I’ve been playing around with writing some autobiographical stuff, just thinking how i could write imaginatively and creatively about life instead of just a list of events and plain descriptions.
Here I’m remembering being on the river…
The girl and her friend knew the river so well, knew where they could pull over and eat their sandwiches, wrapped in greaseproof paper, probably in a paper bag; people didn’t seem to take drinks with them wherever they went, but maybe they had a bottle, a glass bottle (not a plastic bottle with a clever top, or a carton with a straw attached to the side) a glass bottle with a screw cap of lemon or orange squash. Maybe they had a couple of apples, and would through the core into the river in the hope of attracting a fish or a duck, but not a swan.
If swans were about they would pull to the bank until they glided past, or if the river was wide enough, steer watchfully round them. Ducks avoided them, and avoided he swans, the moorhens would scoot about the banks, in and out the weeds and reeds. Along the banks there might be the occasional quiver of movement and then a soft splashless slide as a water-rat dropped into the water.
This is quite a change for me… here is a link to the books I’ve published on Amazon: